Tag Archives: Life

My parents enrolled my sister and I in a parochial school in Las Vegas called Saint Christopher Catholic School. I was a student there from second grade until eighth grade. I remember having Religion as a daily class. Then I recall that on Fridays the teachers would line us up, arms-length apart, and march us from the school, across the parking lot to the church. Learning religion and going to church was just part of my life. I never gave it a second thought. God was all around: omnipresent, keeping watch over our deeds, words and thoughts. After finishing 8th grade, my parents gave my sister and I the choice of continuing a religious education at Gorman High School, the only Catholic high school in Las Vegas at the time. I don’t remember my reaction but I do know one thing: I did not want to go to a Catholic high school. So public school it was.

Our household growing up wasn’t particularly religious, at least that’s how I remember it. My mother, being Filipino, was raised in a very devout Catholic family. My father however, didn’t bring any sort of religious leaning to our family of four.

Once I was no longer affiliated with St. Christopher’s or any other church, I pretty much never went back. For a few years my mother was able to convince us to go to church on the big holidays: Christmas and Easter. But that didn’t last very long as working full-time while going to college and participating in whatever other interests and activities I had at the time really left little to no room for church. And to be completely honest, I had no interest in pursuing a religious lifestyle. I’d had eight years of religion classes and church…that was enough for me.

Fast-forward through young adulthood and my 30s. I was busy with work, college, dating and miscellaneous other things that kept my life occupied enough that I didn’t think about God much. More specifically the existence of God. I just cruised through my life, distracted from religion but in my default mode: God existed.

So when did I begin to question religion and the existence of God? It’s hard to pinpoint. But it might have gotten its roots back when I was a student of fine art at UNLV. For me, the two most important things that I learned from studying art were: 1) critical thinking, self-reflection and honesty were the best ways for me to create meaningful images; 2) find my own answers to whatever questions I may have. I was actively painting and drawing up until my early 30s at which point work began demanding the lion’s share of my time and my desire for making art quickly diminished until at last I created none.

However, it wasn’t until my 40s when I started becoming interested in politics and the news of the world. Up until then, I lived a blind life, really. I always had a job, a place to live, a working car. I only had “first-world problems” and was absorbed enough in living the American life that I didn’t pay much attention to the real hardships other peoples of the world faced. To the best of my recollection, that’s when I started critically thinking about religion as an organization. I started realizing that much of the world’s conflicts are based on different religious ideology. Now, I’m not a student of religions. Nor am I a student of history. So I must also state that my point of view of all the world’s discord was based on what western media provided me, and filtered through my western sensibilities. So to say that I understand all of what’s going on in the world would be ridiculous statement and a huge mistake. But in general terms I was coming to my own conclusions as a result of all the things I was learning about the world.

With regard to religion, I was seeing appalling hypocrisy. I was seeing extreme violence in the name of God. It was becoming clear to me that organized religion was used as a tool to control and/or oppress populations. At that point I deduced that religion was not holy at all, but just a man-made scheme to wield power. After all, the scriptures weren’t written by the hand of God, they were written by men with the claim that they were divinely directed. Am I to believe only because I was told and taught to believe? As a rational adult and a thinking man, I need proof. But there is no proof.

With regard to God, I was asking myself how there could be such widespread hatred, horrifying violence on a grand scale, and inhumane acts perpetrated on entire races of people, yet God never stepped in to wield his ultimate powers of good in order to help the oppressed or to save the lives of the innocent. I started seeing that this is a very hands-off sort of God. His “mysterious ways” and “divine plan” didn’t make sense to me as I saw no evidence of it. Despite making genuine attempts to pray for unambiguous answers, I got only one. And believe it or not, it came to me in a fortune cookie. That’s no joke. And it came just a couple of days after praying. But although it felt like a real answer, it was only that one time. I have not been able to repeat it. Therefore it could have been just coincidence. In science, something can’t be definitively considered proven unless the experiment can be repeated and the same answer achieved. But over the years, there’s been mountains of reasons not to believe in the existence God.

Religion teaches us that God is all-powerful, all-knowing, and has endless love and compassion. But I don’t see it that way anymore. He seems narcissistic, closed-minded and not the powerhouse as advertised. I wonder: why does God condemn us as sinners right from the womb? If he loves all of his people, why does he condemn the LGBTQ community? And since the Bible brands this community as sinners, then the hypocritical “Christians” feel they are given full license to hate them, on behalf of God, of course. That’s God’s work they’re doing (please read with all the thick sarcasm intended). Why are religious leaders always telling us to believe, regardless of what the facts reveal? They call it “faith” and they sling that word around like it has magical powers. The religious faithful are staunch in their support of these leaders, in some cases to the point of fanaticism and radicalism.

But I do need to remember that much of the teachings of religion are good. I need to remember that, when a man persecutes or commits violence against his fellow man in the name of his religion, it’s still just a man committing these abominable acts and not religion itself. People are imperfect and may have an unhealthy relationship with religion, misinterpret religion’s purpose, or just have a fucked up belief system.

One of the teachings I can totally get behind is that of “love your fellow man.” But that’s not a lesson invented by God. I believe human beings are hardwired to need each other, to treat each other with compassion and to love one another. I believe that’s an inherent trait of the human animal. I don’t believe that love and compassionate behavior is instilled in us as a result of religious teachings. I believe that those emotions and behaviors are already in us and are strengthened with human interaction, resulting in bonds of family, friendship and respect for others. No religion needed.

This shift in my attitude about faith in God didn’t come overnight. It has been very gradual. It’s the amalgamation of all that I’ve learned and experienced so far. Within the last four months I’ve asked a couple of friends what their view on religion is because I wanted to get some input on how other people think about religion and how they see themselves in relation to it. One was a believer and the other didn’t put much thought into it. I wonder if it’s normal for everyone, especially for those of us who are more advanced in years, to have these thoughts, to take an inventory of our beliefs and to think critically of whether there is a divine power out there. I think there’s a large group of folks who are riding the fence between faith in God and atheism, just like me. Although I feel I have a healthy dose of atheism within me, I find I still have residual religious habits that are still inside me. The biggest example is that, before I drive my car, I routinely say a silent prayer in my head asking for a safe trip. The prayer begins with “Dear God” and ends with “Amen.” That’s definitely a prayer. And I always thank Him upon safe arrival at my destination. The mere fact that I have capitalized “God” and “Him” is another clue that I haven’t fully broken away from my religious background.

But the older I get, the less I can pretend to see the hand of God in the world, if at all.

It was one of those days when it’s a minute away from snowing and there’s this electricity in the air, you can almost hear it. Right? And this bag was just dancing with me. Like a little kid begging me to play with it. For fifteen minutes. That’s the day I realized that there was this entire life behind things, and this incredibly benevolent force that wanted me to know there was no reason to be afraid, ever. Video’s a poor excuse, I know. But it helps me remember… I need to remember… Sometimes there’s so much beauty in the world, I feel like I can’t take it, and my heart is just going to cave in.

– Ricky Fitts (American Beauty – 1999)

Photographs of urban decay, artifacts and discarded objects fascinate me. I’ve been asked why on a couple of occasions and I don’t think I was successful in conveying succinctly the way this particular photographic subject matter makes me feel. Shots of beautiful landscapes are, well, beautiful, but I’m not moved by them. I suppose there are multiple reasons why I’m so drawn to photographs depicting dark, graffitied alleys, abandoned structures, lonely neons signs, and forsaken objects. Whatever their backstory, these unwanted objects or abandoned places have timelines. I would find it fascinating to listen to their stories if only it were possible.

But if I were to describe it, I would say the appeal may be that of voyeurism, a bit of nostalgia, being witness to the gritty byproduct of time passed, romanticized loneliness, and the evidence of things made by human hands, then destroyed by human indifference.

I find it intriguing that every object has a life, and if it were sentient, a point of view. I don’t know if people ever give much thought to the lives of objects. A thing was created with a purpose and so began its narrative. Immediately it was put to use and became part of the lives of those that interacted with it. It could be anything…a dirt road, an office building, a teddy bear, a park bench. But time passes and the object falls out of favor. It was used until it broke. It is now obsolete. Perhaps its function was no longer necessary. I often see discarded things that make me wonder how it lived its life and how it came to be in that spot: a creepy doll head, a single athletic shoe or a discarded reclining chair. The people who once bought and utilized those things are real: Amanda, 5, accidentally dropped her doll out of the car window while her family was driving from San Diego to Anaheim to vacation at Disneyland for the weekend. Joseph, 40, who works in the HR department at the Lowe’s on Rawson and 27th, jogs daily along Lake Michigan and replaces his old Nikes every three months or so for a new pair. Paula, 72, who’s husband, James, passed away four years ago, decided it was time to move from Morgantown, WV to be closer to her daughter in Pittsburgh, even though she hates big city life. James’ Barcalounger was one of the large items left at the curb to be collected by the local Goodwill but two neighborhood boys absconded with it and eventually ditched it in a nearby vacant lot. These are the potential backstories of everyday objects that are now left to languish.

Although perhaps in a diminished capacity, these derelict structures and objects were still functional and probably utilized by the disenfranchised until reaching a point where even those marginalized people no longer found them useful. Yet these places and things still exist. For no purpose now. They still exist. And time continues to abuse them. Eventually we give them different descriptors such as “wreckage” and “garbage” and “junk.” Still they persist. And more time passes. Until the day they become beautiful. Even though they haven’t changed. They’re still broken down. They’re still weathered and neglected. But each discarded object, every derelict building, the forgotten backroads and alleyways, they all have a history, known or unknown. They are personified. They have character. In their broken down state, they are beauty. And I feel lucky to have viewed them, interacted with them. To have connected with them by acknowledging: “I see you.”

Because they are now tucked away from the well-traveled paths, only those that venture into a random, unknown direction will find them. And they will be difficult to find because society will not illuminate them. Society will not point a sign at them. Yet they’re still beautiful, while cloaked in darkness. They do not ask to be viewed. They no longer feel beautiful. But they are beautiful, again.

2016 is nearing its end. I’m not one to make resolutions for the new year. My track record for keeping new year resolutions is abysmal so I quit making them some time ago. But January 1 is a good marker to remind myself to ruminate on the last twelve months. So, like anyone who favors self improvement, I analyze the previous year and come up with two or three goals to accomplish for the year ahead. Usually they revolve around finances and fitness, such as: paying off credit cards, eating healthier, having “X” amount of money in savings, going to the gym at least 3 times a week…blah, blah. All of those things are smart ideas. All of those things are improvements to one’s life. Are they the keys to a happier life? Possibly.

But this year, after giving some thought to what I’m going to try to do differently in 2017, I’ve settled on these three things:

1. Downsize everything.

2. Do creative things.

3. Give compliments.

DOWNSIZE EVERYTHING

I’m not sure how easy this one’s going to be but I really feel like I’ll be the better for it. And I bet it’ll take me the whole year to do it. But my plan to downsize will entail a whole bunch of discarding unneeded clutter such as old paperwork, statements, old clothes and shoes, stuff I thought I’d need but never did, knick-knacks that never got unpacked from my last move, books I’ll never read again, old pots, pans and dishes…you get the picture. I just want to focus on keeping what’s essential, plus the things that add value to my life, and get rid of the rest. Do I really need a TV in every room? No. Do I need three computers? No. As a single person who rents, do I need to live in a 3-bedroom, 2.5 bathroom condo? No. These are all examples of unessential things and a byproduct of living in our current American consumer-based culture. Now if you asked me if I need all the vintage audio equipment, my answer is a solid YES. Although unessential, they are things that bring me joy and therefore add value to my life.

DO CREATIVE THINGS

In a nutshell, this one is me trying to reconnect with my younger self. Back in my 20s and 30s I was studying fine art in college and being creative was who I was. I remember those days as being so satisfying and fulfilling. My mind was full, different thoughts and ideologies were exciting and making art was my focus. During those times, coming up with interesting and meaningful images seemed effortless. Now when I try to come up with an interesting visual, I simply draw a blank. I suspect it’s because I’m less in touch with myself, and I’ve become fearful of representing the true nature of that person via artful expression. Then when I chose to focus on my profession, all those things that come along with adulthood descended upon me. The majority of my waking hours was focused on work. With more money comes more financial responsibilities. With more responsibilities comes more stress. And it perpetuates itself, continually turning like a merry-go-round, only less merry.

Although I like my job and the people I work with, it’s just not fulfilling, which is why “Do Creative Things” is on the list.

GIVE COMPLIMENTS

This is one that I think will be difficult at first because of my shy nature, but has the potential to be the most rewarding. I feel like this one can go in the “Simple Acts Of Kindness” category. Anything that one can do that is a benefit to another person, even something as simple as making them smile, is always the most rewarding, right? I know it’s a small gesture but spreading good energy and warm feelings only generates more of the same. I truly believe that happiness spreads like fire: it multiplies and gains abundance without diminishing the source.

So these are the things I’m going to try to accomplish for 2017. Perhaps with focus and a bit of luck, you’ll be reading an insightful post from me next year recounting how successfully it all went. Or perhaps not. Whatever the outcome it will be a learning experience. For those of you who are also planning some self-improvement goals, or new year resolutions if you prefer that label, I wish you the best!

When was the last time you felt completely fulfilled? Completely satisfied? No worries, no wants, no anxiety. I think that feeling is only reserved for children. Movies, books and songs may be our attempts as adults to find that feeling of contentment again. Perhaps it’s our way of chasing that high, even if it’s only for a verse and a chorus.

When Mikey was diagnosed with cancer back in January 2015, it was a punch in the gut to me. He was as healthy looking as he’d always looked. But I guess it wasn’t that way on the inside.

His doctor immediately got an oncologist involved and they made a plan to do surgery, then six months of chemotherapy. That time has elapsed and he finished up his chemo in the first week of August. He’s still got some check-ups to do, the last (for this year at least) being in December. If all is well, they will remove the “port” (which is the plug in his chest through which the chemicals were directly pumped) and he’ll only have to go for check-ups every year. I’m so happy and relieved that the cancer was detected when it was and that the chemotherapy worked as hoped.

As a byproduct of his experience, I began watching documentaries on eating for health and aging and death. It’s proved to be very educational but also extremely depressing and scary. I started thinking about the “what if” scenarios such as Mikey not responding to chemotherapy and succumbing to the disease. I was thinking about what his wife and child would do without him and how my role would change in their lives. I thought about what would happen if my sister suddenly got sick and how that would change my role to her and my relationship with my parents. You see, my sister has always been my tether to them. She and my mother are close. Of my two parents, I feel closer to my mother than to my father. I’ve already confessed my relationship with my father in an earlier writing. Then my thoughts wandered to my own aging parents. I can already see their bodies breaking down before my eyes, in their movements, posture, skin and teeth. As of this writing, my mother is five months away from her 75th birthday. My father just turned 74 in September.

A few months ago I watched a FRONTLINE documentary featuring an American surgeon, Dr. Atul Gawande (http://atulgawande.com) who is shedding light on existing hospital procedure and how it deals with how we think about terminal illness, life while dying and eventual death. I was moved by this documentary enough to seek its companion book: Being Mortal (2014). It had some very interesting insights that are not only extremely sad (I broke down into tears on multiple occasions during the reading of this book) but also comforting as well.

In his research and experience, Dr. Gawande tries to tell a story of the different procedures hospitals employ across the nation, the different philosophies of “bedside manner” that individual doctors adopt and, with all these approaches in mind, tries to bring awareness of what he sees as a partially broken system. But he also understands that the system was born of American societal views and the way to fix it also involves changing what people think quality of life means at those end stages.

So while taking in all that’s happened to Mike, watching miscellaneous documentaries and reading the book on aging and end-of-life healthcare, naturally I gave some thought to my own mortality. I’m 50 years old. I’ve got more life behind me than I have in front of me, but what I have left could potentially be another 25 years of decent living. All I need is a healthier lifestyle and a little luck. But aside from the physical aspect of growing old, I also began to think about what my position is on God. And here is where I find a lot of gray area for myself. My mind wrestles with my gut about where I stand on this subject. As with a great number of people, I have some very strong and critical views on God. But I’m more critical with regard to religion and especially those who are fanatical followers of religion.

A couple of weeks ago I went to lunch with a friend. A good friend. A close friend. The bail-you-out-of-jail kind of friend. I know for a fact she’s this kind of friend because of that one time when she bailed me out of jail. Not a proud moment for me.

I met her when she was just nineteen. We were at a house party and she was new to the core group of friends that were our hosts. She once told me that she was afraid of me that night we first met. Back then I had a tendency to wear black t-shirts with long shorts and Dr Martens 1460s. My hair was cropped very close to the scalp and a goatee dropped from my chin. She said she thought I was a drug dealer.

I would never have seen her again except she started dating one of my friends. So I would see her on weekends when all of us would get together for parties, barbecues, like that. She wasn’t old enough to drink at bars save for The Office Bar and The Double Down. Cute girls just had to flirt with the bouncer to get in and she was extremely cute. Getting to know her was such fun. She was outgoing, humorous and always added to the positivity in the room. We began hanging out more and more.

Over the years we became very close. We spent so much time together that she’d become my best friend, and I didn’t even realize it. It wasn’t until someone was asking about “my best friend” that I realized how much of an important part of my life she’d become. I responded, “Oh yeah, Mikey’s great!” He said, “Mikey? I meant the girl.” I paused for thought and realized it was true.

It had its bumps, I mean what long term friendship is ever perfect? There was a period of time when my deep caring for her turned to feelings of love. It wasn’t reciprocated. That fucked everything up for all the usual reasons I won’t go into. I’m sure you know what I mean. It was an emotionally tumultuous couple of years for me. Luckily, we both weathered that storm and came out of it still very tight.

Time goes on, ya know. And it’s been ten years now since all that went down. And I’ve always held it in my mind as an unshakable truth that our friendship was solid and would always be that way. Then I came to a realization…when we went to lunch a couple of weeks ago.

It was a Thursday when we met for lunch. We work less than a mile away from each other so getting together for lunch during the work week is easy. We’d made a habit of meeting almost weekly and nearly always on Thursdays. But on this particular Thursday there wasn’t much conversation. In fact, we joked about how neither of us had anything to say to the other. We passed it off as a side effect of staying in touch too often, almost daily via text messages, and concluded that there was no catching up to be done since we communicate often. Perhaps this is true in large part. But the last decade has given us time to become two very different people now.

The glaring truth is: outside of our history together, we have little in common. If one were to compare her leisure time against mine, one would see that there is hardly a trace of crossover. Our interests don’t intersect either. The older I get, the more docile my life has become and the greater part of my activity takes place in my mind, which is in striking contrast to her outdoorsy, on-the-go lifestyle. They could make an action figure out of her.

People come in and out of our lives all the time. The overlap makes life rich and enjoyable. I’m not saying I believe she and I will eventually drift apart completely. I really do think we’ll be friends to the end. Of course the degree will wax and wane. All I’m saying is that right now it feels like it’s waning sharply. And I wish our current friendship was something more similar to what we had back in our heyday together. I miss those times. More specifically, I miss those times with her.

I was surrounded by concrete and automobiles when I awakened. And goddamn, I was cold. Passed out on the concrete floor was no way for a desert rat to sober up on a winter night in this city. I was on the 3rd floor of the parking garage at the Hard Rock Hotel between a white, nondescript sedan that probably belonged to a 60-year-old 5th grade english teacher and an early 2000s silver Honda rice burner, the kind prescribed only to Asian B-Boys.

I got my feet under me and with furrowed brow, did a visual sweep to get my bearings. Checked my cell phone. It was almost 2 a.m. Then I started my walk to the Double Down.

He told me about three weeks before Christmas. I was kind of caught off guard a little. He’s 51. When he told me, I asked the usual questions: What?! Where is it? How bad is it? How did you find out? Is there any pain? Who have you told? What do we do next? I came up with more questions in response to some of the things he was telling me. Many of the questions he didn’t know the answer to as he was still waiting for blood results and therefore hadn’t yet scheduled a consultation with a surgeon. Much to my surprise, my initial reaction was one of anger. One would think it would be sympathy. But I was angry. “This is one of the finest human beings I’ve even had the pleasure of knowing! The world is better because he’s in it. This is so unfair! Who’s fucking bad decision-making led to this?” But once I calmed down, I came to my senses and settled on something I already knew: Life’s not unfair…it’s just indifferent.

Fast-forward a couple of months.

Mikey had his surgery just over a week ago. They removed a portion of his small intestine. All went as planned. I was very relieved. During the procedure, the surgeon took some samples to biopsy. We’re waiting to hear those results. In the meantime, I’ve prayed multiple times for his complete recovery.